Chapter Twelve

A few days ago, I was certain that Mark knew I liked him, but now I'm wavering. I'd begun to feel my actions more transparent, recently, especially since the only time I picked fights was when Mark was somehow involved, and anyone could figure out with a few questions that Mark hadn't ever done anything bad to earn my ire. Actions could be transparent, and Mark was a smart guy.

But I wouldn't, in a million years, look at the glare Tommy shoots in Mark's direction and think, "maybe he has a crush?". If someone looked at me like that, I'd think I'm about to be murdered.

From the bleachers, even though I can't hear the team speaking, I know it's a disaster. There's a clear split, as if two separate teams have been mashed together, and I'm not even there to curse at Mark or anything.

Bethany gets to her feet and stretches with a big yawn. "What. A. Shitshow. Nobody can blame you for it anymore, Kyle."

"Nope," I agree, eyeing Mark. It hasn't escaped my notice the source of the fighting has been Tommy and Mark bumping heads. Mark still has a shiner that Tommy inflicted at basketball practice. Tommy showed me the bruised ribs he'd ended up with at the end of that practice during the week.

"I'm going to go sort them out before we're knocked out of the tournament," Bethany says. She makes her way down the steps, leaving me to mind our spot. She passes by a familiar face, and I perk up, surprised to see my pretty study-buddy looking around the court.

I raise my hand, catching his eye. "Study buddy," I greet him with a smile.

He nods at me but doesn't smile or wave. I gesture to the seat Bethany vacated, and he climbs the stairs to join me.

"I see everyone's being stupid," he says. The cool contempt in his gaze reminds me of Mark's regard for Tommy. Did Mark look at me like that when he fought? I don't think so. It has always been wildfires rather than blizzards when Mark and I grappled.

"This volleyball tournament might become fight club in a minute," I joke. Bethany has reached the team and has stomped right into Eddie's space to give out to him. There's much discussion with the coach, and the end result is Tommy and Mark being sent off the court.

Mark goes to the team bench and Louis goes to talk to him. That's not in any way abnormal but now that I know about their past, I have a hard time looking away. Ridiculously, I try to lip-read their conversation. The only insight I gleam is related to my own stupidity.

Tommy strides away in the opposite direction until he approaches me, taking the stairs two at a time with his big stride. He claims the spot next to me and sits with a huff.

"Shut up," Tommy grumbles.

"Idiot." I can't help myself.

"Little fucker is looking over here," Tommy curses. He sits up, and I follow his gaze to find that Mark is looking our way. I wave and he waves back.

"Stop that," Tommy gives out as he elbows me. "You saw what he did to my ribs."

"And I can see what you did to his face. Quid pro quo, Tommy."

"I'm your friend. You should be taking my side. I always take yours."

"You always have my back," I concede. "But you do tell me afterwards when I've been stupid…this is my friend, by the way. We're library buddies." I've known study-buddy too long to possibly ask for his name, but I can utilise Tommy here.

Tommy glances around me. "I'm Tommy."

"Sebastian," my study-buddy replies. "Mark's cousin."

Both Tommy and I stare at him until Tommy shoots me a "what the hell?" look.

"Really?" I ask. I picked that table in the library because of the view I got of the gym. I've been sitting next to Mark's cousin all semester and didn't even know? What are the chances of that happening?

"You don't look alike," Tommy says, eyes narrowing with suspicion when he sees this is news to me as well. Tommy has a point. Mark is tall, well-built, and everything bar his skin is dark. Sebastian, on the other hand, has blonde hair, blue eyes, warm golden-brown skin, and is not only short, but slim, too.

Sebastian stares at Tommy like he's an idiot. "Do you understand how genetics work?" Contempt drips from every word.

Tommy doesn't falter, holding Sebastian's gaze. "Never mind," he says. "I see the resemblance now."

While Tommy and Sebastian stare off, movement catches my eye. I stare at Mark's down-turned head, surprised to see him trotting up the steps toward our spot. His face lifts, his eyes meet mine, and his lips tug into a half-smile.

Tommy notices him as he reaches our row. He's about to leap up but I grab his arm. "Stop it," I say.

Tommy glances at me, irritated. He lowers back down without complaint, and without acknowledging Mark's existence. I glance at Mark, who winks at me, and then turns his attention to Sebastian and nudges his foot with his. "Scoot over there," he requests.

Sebastian leans back on his palms and stares up at Mark. The expression on his face is nothing but indolent. I see approval shining in Tommy's eyes and he casts Sebastian a second, longer look.

Mark's gaze darts to Tommy, but he decides against telling him to scoot over.

Mark glances to the spot on the far side of Sebastian, on the far side of Tommy, and then stares at me contemplatively. I try not to smile. It's an uncommon sight, seeing Mark stumped like this. His gaze hovers on my smile, my mouth, and then his hands are on my knees. "Fine," he says, gaze intent on me. " You scoot."

Warmth zaps up my thighs as Mark, in a smooth move, guides my knees apart and sits between my feet. His back rests against the inside of my calf, and his shoulders press against my knees. Despite his quick movement, he doesn't jostle my left leg at all.

Tommy glares a hole through the back of Mark's head as Sebastian snorts.

I'm not sure what I make of Mark until I catch his smug expression and I grin before I can fight it. A month ago, I would have kicked him down the stairs in embarrassment. On the court, several people are looking at us. From their expressions, I think they're waiting for Tommy and Mark to lay into each other and come crashing down the bleachers.

"Did they give you a time-out or ban you?" I ask.

"Time-out," Mark answers.

"Sebastian said you're cousins," I say next.

"Yes," Mark casts Sebastian a side-long look, then twists so that he's sitting at an angle and can peer up at my face. It's quite a cute pose, especially when he rests his right arm on the bench next to my thigh, and his other hand nudges against my leg. I swallow, feeling warm and stimulated, and Mark tracks the movement. His eyes darken. "Speaking of," he drags his gaze back to my eyes. "I didn't realise you two knew each other."

"We study in the library together. Well, at the same table, at least," I answer.

"Don't push his leg like that," Tommy cuts in, glaring at Mark.

"That one is fine, Tommy," I point out. I meet his eyes, wishing for him to cool off a little bit. I wonder if this how he feels when I pick fights with Mark. No…because Tommy never intervenes; he only backs me up.

Not to mention, it simply isn't necessary to remind Mark to be careful of my leg. He has been extremely conscientious of it since he saw my prosthetic.

"Guys, hi, um," Louis says, his voice chipper. "Are you okay to play together now?"

Bethany stands at his side, an eyebrow raised at Mark and then at me. I read the question in her eyes: you're not going to kick him in the face?

I am very happy not to do so.

"I'm comfy," Mark replies, resting his chin on my knee. His gaze sinks sideways to Tommy, regarding him like a feline lying in wait.

Tommy stares back like a bulldozer. Neither will do anything, not with my prosthetic leg literally between them.

Louis looks between us all, frowning, but I can see the gears ticking behind Bethany's eyes.

"Go on," I encourage. "You'll let the team down if you sit it out."

Both Tommy and Mark respond, reluctantly making their way to the court. Their rejoining of the team doesn't last long, as they trip each other up several times—clearly on purpose on both sides—and the coach subs them out for each other during the matches to keep things civil.

"How are they worse than you are with Mark?" Bethany asks incredulously. Tommy shoulder-checks Mark as they swap out, and Mark retraces his steps to shoulder-check Tommy into the bench.

"It's the world's stupidest pissing match," Sebastian remarks, watching the action with disapproval.

"Is this what I usually look like?" I ask.

"No," Bethany tells me. "You prod at Mark until he's wound up enough that everyone's scared he'll knock you out, so they step in. It's war when you're involved. This is just…"

"Pissing match," Sebastian finishes her sentence.

"Guys are stupid," Bethany says in agreement.

I make a noise of objection in my throat. "We're both guys, Beth."

"And I've seen just how ridiculous you are, Kyle. Although your friend here seems half-decent."

I'm a little offended by Bethany's remark. Nobody else is getting involved in Tommy and Mark's scrap, and her remark makes it sound like my friends would get involved in mine because they didn't think I was a match for Mark. A moment of clarity tells me they were correct because even before I lost weight, I wasn't as built as Mark. Quicker on my feet, maybe. Able to pack a punch? No. Not that I'd ever actually tried to punch Mark. I've cursed at him, shoved him, knocked him out of his canoe until he dragged me out of mine—but I'd never taken a swing at him. And he's never taken a swing at me, either. And he's also never accidentally-on-purpose shoved me into the wall, like he's just done to Tommy.

Tommy tackles Mark and grappling ensues. The team descends with more exasperation than worry. Eddie watches on from the sidelines and I see that he is the one Bethany is focused on.

I lick my lips, thinking of her giving out to him earlier. "Did Eddie mention his older brother to you?" My tongue dries so quick that my voice doesn't really come out.

Bethany frowns my way. "What was that?"

"Nothing," I say quickly.

Sebastian casts me a curious look. "Are you not going to step in?"

"Step in and what? It's one-on-one. It's bad manners to step in on a fair fight," I tell him.

" Guys. " Bethany sighs, exasperated. "Step in and stop them punching each other, Kyle. Your friend is down there getting beaten up. Don't you want to help him?"

They're getting pulled apart now, anyway. Though I understand Bethany's question.

"I was always told to let scraps like that resolve themselves," I say.

"By who?"

"My brothers." Even Chris had told me never to insert myself into the middle of a fight unless I thought it was absolutely necessary. And I learned the hard way that getting between two of my brothers fighting usually ended in both of them being mad at me and just fighting again later, anyway.

I glance between Mark and Tommy. Both are being given a stern talking to from the coach, and from the way Mark walks off toward the changing room and Tommy leaves through the emergency exit, I'm certain they've both been booted from the tournament, if not the club.

"I'll go make sure Tommy's in one piece," Bethany says, springing up. She trots down the stairs and makes her way to the emergency exit. I watch her go and then my gaze slips to the doorway Mark went through.

"Are you going to check on Mark?" I ask Sebastian.

He snorts. "I'm sure he'd much rather you follow after him."

I only sit for a few seconds, hesitating, then I spring up and follow after Mark.